


The Wolf

by tsnitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bottom Sirius Black, Dirty Talk, M/M, Morse Code, POV Sirius Black, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, Some Plot, Threats of Violence, Top Remus Lupin, Violence, World War II, code names, descriptions of violence, flirty Sirius, undercover agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsnitch/pseuds/tsnitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is trapped in France, trying to get out of the country. He's stuffed in a secret hiding place beneath the seats of a car together with another man who intrigues him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really understand what came over me. Thought I would post it anyway. Kudos=love
> 
> Warning! There will be some violence. And some claustrophobia

Major Canis, you’re compromised. You've got to get out of here right now. 

 

The message, in morse, is tapped on the other side of the secret wall where I'm currently hiding. My accelerated heart beat is almost loud enough to be heard outside of the cramped space of the former cupboard. 

 

The adrenalin coursing through me almost makes me claustrophobic, because I know I can’t go anywhere. I have to sit tight until they leave. I never was any good at doing nothing. 

 

Finally, I hear the front door close. The panel obscuring the tiny hole in the wall is being removed. 

 

“They told me they were searching for you. Didn’t have your photo but a pretty good description.” 

 

“How soon can you get me out?”

 

“It's now or never, they are in the middle of closing the roads.”

 

“What are the alternatives?” 

 

“Were moving a package to Switzerland in 10 minutes but it's going to be a really cramped space.”

 

“By now I've had extensive training in cramped spaces.” I say, earning me half a smile. That is the closest thing you can get to a real laugh in this place, so I count it as a success. The man housing me is too old to fight but runs one of many safe-houses scattered throughout France, as a network for the resistance. They aren’t too keen on allies, but cooperates with us Brits out of necessity. Doesn’t mean that tension isn’t running high.

 

“Fine, let's get you there.” The old man, who goes by the name of Pierre, although it's probably not his real name, takes me down some back-alley-streets of the small village. 

 

We were moving fast, but not running. I curse the way that cobblestones never allows you to move around unnoticed. 

 

“Hurry up” Pierre looks worried, which makes me feel a bit queasy about the situation. The main problem with this undercover-stuff is never knowing for sure about anyone. Feels like the Nazis has rats everywhere now days. 

 

I spot a car, looks like a Hotchkiss but it's so dark I really can't be sure. 

 

“Le père La Cerise est verni.” Pierre says, and the man behind the steering wheel gives a tight nod. 

 

Pierre opens the passenger door and lifts a panel beneath the seating. He gestures for me to get in. Something feels off, but my options are non-existent so I climb in anyway. 

 

I'm lucky my shocked reaction is a silent one. There is someone lying in the cramped space. 

 

I try to climb in without jostling the person too much but it's near impossible for me to fit. Pierre tries to close the hatch and therefore pushes me closer into the person who I can tell is decidedly male, that's how close we are. 

 

“Hi.” I whisper. This really is one of the most awkward situations I've ever been in, and that's saying quite a bit considering what me and James used to get up to in boarding school.

 

“Bonjour.” A nice, smooth, dark voice greets me. The vibration of his chest sends a shiver down my spine. 

 

“Are you here often?” I say, because my humour is a safety net for me, or that's what Lily tells me anyway. I handle everything with humour. 

 

“No talking.” The voice is soft but admonishing. 

 

“Oh, I see, the strong and silent type.” I hear a soft puff of exhale, almost certainly a laugh, and that makes me feel better than I've felt in a long time. 

 

“Fine, ok, I'll be quiet for a while.” I say, granting him this because he granted me a laugh. 

 

While not at ease with this situation, exhaustion must have caught up with me because I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I know is that I'm plastered to the front of my mystery man. And he is holding his hand over my mouth. I should be scared but in my sleep addled mind, my body must've interpreted this as a sexual situation. It doesn’t really help that his breathing becomes shallow and that his mouth is right against my ear. 

 

“Schh.” The soft exhale makes me shiver again, and my brain tries desperately to grasp the situation. And then I hear them. People talking in German right outside the car. I give a small nod to convey my understanding. If we're lucky, it's border control. His hand against my mouth feels nice. The calluses tells me that he is (or was) a farmer or a factory worker. His wrists are kind of slender, and his hands are kind of big, with long fingers. They smell like cigarettes and ink. I've always had a good sense of smell. James never could hide anything from me. Called me the blood-hound for a while until his mother forbade it, said it sounded like I was something dangerous, which of course was the reason for why I liked it in the first place. 

 

My mystery man is taller than me as well, not by much, but maybe by 2-3 inches. In the way I'm plastered against him, I can feel that he is slenderly built. His right arm that holds me against him is strong, but not in a bulky way. Needless to say, he feels wonderful. I try to will away my arousal, knowing that him leaning that particular way is not very likely. 

 

The car started to drive again to our immense relief. Both of us seems to instantly relax. His hand leaves my face but stays around me, his hand resting over my still overzealous heart. 

 

“Were you cuddling me in my sleep? I'm not that kind of boy, you pervert.” I said, my humour once again trying to disperse the tension of the minimal space. 

 

“Then what kind of boy are you?” The deep voice rumbled in my ear. 

 

“My name is Orion. And I expect dinner first, at the very least.” I say, giving him the name of my father who I despise more than anything in the whole world, except for my mother of course. 

 

“That's a very special name.” He says smiling against my neck in a way that tells me he knows the name is fake. 

 

“Well, I am a very special man.” I tell him “What's your name? Or is it, like you, hidden in shadows?”

 

“John.” He says, smiling again. 

 

“Well that's a very normal name. If you're going to lie to me, at least tell me something original.” 

 

“I'm a very normal man.” He says, with a slight tilt in his pronunciation, his French making it self known. 

 

“Somehow, I really doubt that.”

 

“You would be the first.” He tells me, and squeezes me tighter against his body. 

 

I almost moan and push my arse into his groin. Last time I saw any kind of action was boarding school, me and James joined the army as soon as graduation, hungry for adventure and full of self-righteous anger. That quickly changed when we realised what the real world looked like, that taking a life was traumatic even though it was Nazi scum. Fear overshadowed any sense of adventure our missions held. 

 

I was picked very early to go undercover because of my language skills. I spoke German and French fluently by the age of 10, and that made me the perfect candidate. Quite the opposite of what my parents wanted me to use my skills for, which made it so much sweeter. 

 

“Well I'm always the first in everything.” I boast with my usual confidence, but with a hint of humour to soften it. I can charm anyone, which is the second thing that makes me a perfect candidate for espionage. 

 

“I'm sure.” He says. Sounding a bit sad? An uneasy feeling creeps up my spine again. I suddenly realise that his grip is rendering me defenceless. Panic strikes as he whispers “I'm sorry Sirius.” in my ear. 

 

“Wait! Stop!” I exclaim pleadingly. Trying to grab his hand, which now is holding a knife. 

 

“Why are you doing this? Are you a double agent?” I ask him, even as the blade is snug against my jugular. 

 

“You're selling our secrets to the Germans, Sirius. Don't act like you don't know. Justice has a way of catching up with you.” He says. In our struggle I've ended up beneath him, his strong, capable hand still holding the knife. My eyes has gotten used to the darkness and I see his face for the first time. He has curly dark hair, almost certainly brown, and golden eyes. He looks handsome and resigned, not malicious. 

 

“I'm not! Please believe me! My best friend is married to a Jew, he would kill me himself. And then she would kill me for good measure.” I try to calm down, but my whole body is shaking. 

 

“Is it the money? Power? What drives a traitor like you?” He actually looks interested, curious. Although still not swayed by my pleading. 

 

“I don't have any money, if I was the least bit interested of money or power I would never have left my family. Listen to me! I was disowned because of my political views. If I had any kind of sympathy for the Nazis I would be in England, positively swimming in money and power and staying with my god-awful family. I left them 4 years ago!” I'm struggling for breath as he narrows his eyes at me. 

 

“I am finding it a bit curious as to why you are here, most posh boys sit in their mansions and wait for all this to blow over.” He says, still not moving the knife. He is calm and unwavering, obviously used to this. 

 

“I don't have a mansion! I live with my best friend's family who is also fighting this war. Both he and his wife. Maybe you know them? James Potter and Lily Evans.” I say, in a desperate attempt to save my life. If this was a Nazi, I would never ever disclose their names, but “John” has a star of David dangling from his neck, and that’s more prof of his alliances than any words would ever be. 

 

“Lily Evans? But you're a Black!” He says, clearly surprised. So that name does ring a bell, thank god. I have to buy her flowers if I ever get out of this car. 

 

“I've been disowned. Not a Black any more. Please believe me, you could ask her yourself. We could try to get a hold of a radio, I think I know where they are.” My shaking still hasn't subsided. 

 

“If you're lying to me, I'm still going to kill you Sirius.” He says, obviously torn by indecisiveness. 

 

“I'm not lying, I swear. Please, let's radio Lily and she can tell you.” I say, a feeling of hopefulness cautiously beginning to swell in my chest. This man is most certainly deadly. 

 

“I'm not going to let you go though, somebody is selling our intel, and it is without a doubt a Brit.” He says, his eyes holding a warning, as if the knife wasn't enough. 

 

“I understand. I want to find this person as bad as you do, promise.” I say, the relief almost making me sob as I feel him lowering the knife. I try to draw a steady breath, to calm my nerves, but is mostly unsuccessful. The stress has made the temperature in the stuffy box almost unbearable as the sweat runs down my back and in my hair. I'm at the brink of hyperventilating when I feel him trying to calm me down, by stroking my hair.

 

“Schhh, try not to make so much noise. We are not safe yet.” He whispers. And with some weird human reflex, I wrap my arms around him, wanting to be comforted by the same man that reduced me to this pathetic snivelling wreck. 

 

And, more shockingly, he returns my embrace. 

 

“I'm sorry, I'll try to pull myself together.” I utter, the English inclination making me be courteous to my would-be-killer. 

 

“I'm sorry.” He whispers again. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The road goes from somewhat smooth to very uneven. I concentrate on the bumps and rattles to keep my mind of the weird tension that's still suffusing the small space in which I've been trapped now for what? Maybe three hours? It's very hard to keep track of the time in the darkness of our box. My claustrophobia has settled down a bit, making me feel numb. I've tried to plan some kind of escape, not all that convinced that “John” wont kill me the moment I fall asleep again. But the panel only opens from the outside. 

 

He's still on top of me, but it's not weirder than anything else that already happened in this car so far. He's not especially heavy either, but I guess this war leaves us all half-starved. His kind face tells me that he's a man with a conscience. A killer with a conscience, that's unusual, well maybe not considering this war makes everyone killers. 

 

“What's your real name?” I ask. 

 

“I'm not going to tell you.” He answers, sounding tired. I think he tried to fool me into thinking he was asleep earlier.

 

“Oh, come on! You know my name! Fair is fair, don't you think?” I say, with mock-indignation. 

 

“Fair is never fair, chiot.” He sighs. 

 

“Who are you calling puppy, you arse?” I say, still with mock-indignation. I'm getting bored, and itching for something, even though the nick-name makes me kind of warm and tingly inside. I blame my affection-starved childhood for this, and for everything else that's wrong with me obviously. What's the point of having family if you can't blame them for the way you're fucked up? 

 

“Ha! You are exactly like a pouting puppy. That's your name right? Sirius, the dog-star?” I wrestle him a bit for the “pouting puppy remark”. 

 

“That may be so, you surprisingly educated man, but if you're giving me a nick-name, I prefer 'bad dog'” I give him my most charming toothy grin, and watch his eyes darken. 

 

“Is that so?” He licks his lips. Can the man be more obvious? Naturally it was only a matter of time before I won him over. 

 

“And what should I call you?” I say, hoping that I have distracted him sufficiently enough for him to divulge his name at last.

 

His eyes shuts down immediately.

 

“Nice try.” He gives me a half grin, showing of a dimple in his right cheek. 

 

“Hey! Come on! After this trip you know almost everything about me. I don't even know your name.” 

 

“Believe it or not, my name is actually John.” 

 

“But that's not your first name.” I say, fairly sure. He looks at me with suspicion in his eyes. That's not what I wanted.

 

“Stop pushing.” He says, narrowing his eyes again. And because I never could take orders, I push my pelvis into his, making my arousal very obvious. 

 

“You mean like this?” I say, lifting a rebellious eyebrow. 

 

And finally his lips crashes down on mine. He's an aggressive kisser, licking his way into my mouth almost viscously. I can't help the moan that he draws when his large hands drags across my sides beneath my shirt. 

 

“If this is some kind of plot to get me to set you free, it's not going to work.” He huffs, but his furrowed eyebrows tells a different story. 

 

“Shut up and kiss me.” I answer. 

 

He proceeds to do exactly that. His thumbs rubs my nipples and my back arches, trying to get closer to him. He tastes like strong tea, and he makes delicious soft growling noises. My body-temperature rises again to alarming levels, I'm hyperventilating but for a whole other reason this time. 

 

“You're driving me crazy.” He whispers in my ear, followed by him taking my earlobe between his teeth and tugging, earning him a whimpering/whining noise that leaves me kind of surprised to hear from my own mouth. He licks his way down my throat and proceeds by nibbling and sucking on it, most certainly leaving marks. I'm thrusting my hips, seeking friction with every breath, the shortage of air in our small box making me a bit delirious. Or maybe it's just him.

 

I drag my hands through his hair and he moans approvingly when I use my nails on his scalp. This is hands down the sexiest moment of my life. His hands finds my arse and squeezes, making me wish for his cock. It's large. I can tell from the pressure of him against my hip. 

 

“This is what you wanted right? My hands on you? In you?” He whispers, making my body convulse of desire imagining him fingering me. I may have a thing for his hands. 

 

“My cock?” He whispers even more quiet, his lips almost only forming the words, but I hear it anyway, loud and clear judging from my body’s reaction of the mere suggestion. 

 

He bites down on my neck as I come in my pants, thrusting against me three, four more times as he comes as well. It feels raw and overwhelming. 

 

His breathing slows down as he tells me, “Sleep, chiot.” 

 

And I do.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Wake up, Sirius.” 

 

No more endearments? Second thoughts already? Fine. That's fine. 

 

“Good morning.” I say, giving him a smug smile, stretching as much as I can manage in the cramped space, which of course means not stretching at all. 

 

“We're here” He says, and suddenly, someone is opening the panel, and letting the blinding light in.  
We are greeted by a very angry and very bald man. He asks “John” why I'm not dead yet. I'm kind of surprised as well to be honest, considering I fell asleep with a man that tried to kill me mere hours ago. Lily always accuses me of a lack of self-preservation. I kind of see her point. 

 

He defends his decision by claiming that they have the wrong man. Clever. They would never buy that he decided that I was innocent despite the intel they must have received from higher up. In the sunlight “John” kind of surprises me. He's dressed in a frumpy sweater over a button up. Everything is too big for him. He looks like a professor, a nerd. Not like the deadly assassin I know he is. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Clever.

 

I keep my mouth shut and my head down for once in my life. Imagining Lily would be proud of me for once. 

 

After a while the angry bald man jumps back into his car and drives off. “John” turns to me.  
“Let's get to that radio.” His eyes is a steely glint, but I see him trying to discreetly check me out. I know I make a striking figure and preen a bit under his scrutiny. Nobody ever accused me of being humble. 

 

“Like what you see?” I throw back at him, accompanied by a smug smile. 

 

“None of that now, Sirius. Let's just get to where we're going.” He says.

 

“Oh! Are my spectacularly good looks distracting? I'm sorry, it's not anything I can control unfortunately.” I smile my most winning smile and get a laugh from him, coupled with a disbelieving expression. Precisely what I was aiming for. I saunter after him, appropriately pleased with myself. 

 

We walk in silence for about ten minutes before I crack. “Ok, where are we going?” 

 

“We're almost there.” He says without looking at me. Nothing really winds me up like being ignored. 

 

“Like almost as in an hour, or almost like in ten minutes?” I ask, bumping my elbow to his so that he will look at me. 

 

“Soon enough.” He says, exasperated and still not looking at me. I don't dare to initiate conversation again. Something about him makes me want to impress him. Charm him.

 

We walk towards a forest for another 20 minutes, in the distance I see something that can only be a safe-house. Strategically placed, so that any escapee can lose the pursuers in the woods surrounding it. If the place is compromised, which seems to be the case sooner or later for everyone and any place. 

 

As predicted, “John” leads us there. 

 

The inside of the house is cosy, but dirty and old. He lifts some loose floorboards and fishes out a radio from the hole. He looks up and meets my eyes for the first time since the car. 

 

“You can go and take a bath if you want.” 

 

“Not going to join me?” I ask, only almost joking. 

 

“No. I'll get the radio started.” He looks back down. 

 

Feeling kind of rejected, I warm up some water on the stove and bring it to the bathroom with me. 

 

I climb out of my sticky pants and wash the hours of sweat from the car, and afterwards I scrub my trousers and pants in the water. I hang them up to dry and secure a towel around my waist before I walk back out. 

 

“Is there any food?” I say, noticing that he must've gotten the radio to work, seeing as he's busy tapping away. A man with many talents. 

 

“We're getting in contact with Lily first.” He answers me. Still not looking at me. And this avoidance thing is finally making sense, he's not looking at me because he is afraid that he will have to kill me. And he feels bad about that because of what happened in the car. 

 

Well then, lucky for both of us I'm telling the truth. 

 

“Fine. Sure.” I say, smiling, trying to put us both to ease. 

 

He looks doubtful.

 

I tell him how to get in contact with my home-base in England. The silence becomes oppressive as he taps a greeting and an inquires after Lily. His code name is “The Wolf”. I've heard rumours of him, always believing that he is some kind of rumour created to scare the Nazis. The rumours about “The Wolf” or “Le loup” in French, or sometimes they call him Lupin, is about a Jewish boy who watched the Nazis murder his family on his farm. It was a full moon and the boy went into a murderous rage, killing the Nazis with an axe. After that, when any assassinated Nazi turns up, especially the really bloody ones, people say that it's The Wolf, seeking revenge. Could this really be him? Or did he take the name because people were afraid of it?

 

What if she's not there? Will he wait for her answer or just kill me assuming that I lied?

 

I once again thank James for the good sense of suggesting that we should learn Morse at boarding school, making me able to understand the massage at once when he gets a reply. 

 

It's Lily. Thank God.

 

He taps away at once, asking her about whether or not I am selling secrets to the Germans, or if I'm in any way capable of doing so. 

 

She answers a negative, of course. Thank God that her trust in me is unwavering. 

 

He answers “Understood. Goodbye.” And turns towards me with a smile on his face. 

 

“You said something about food? Should we check if there are any?” 

 

The tension has mostly alleviated when we decide to go out to hunt something. He seems more relaxed, but the sunlight shows me that he has worry-lines in his face, making him look prematurely ageing. His golden eyes shines in the sunlight though, and his half-smile is even more fetching when it reaches his eyes. He is very handsome, in a low key way. He seems happy in the woods. The trees most certainly balm for his paranoia. The whole way leading to the safe-house, he was constantly checking his surroundings. The woods seems to give him a sense of safety. 

 

He shoots a squirrel with a deadly aim and a steady hand. Flays it with strong sure hands. The hands of a killer. 

 

We share the squirrel and some stale biscuits and he actually makes a joke. A sarcastic, bitter joke but still a joke. It makes me warm inside and I laugh more than the joke merits. 

 

“So, wolf, what's you're name?” I say, putting my mug down on the table with an unmistakable come-hither sort of look.

 

He winces “Don't call me that.”

 

“Then tell me what to call you.” 

 

“It's Remus.” He sighs, finally defeated.

 

“Really? A wolf's name? Fitting, I suppose.” I really think he's telling the truth now. It seems fitting.

 

“For a monster?” He gives me a sharp look.

 

“No. For a strong and clever man.” I say, and give him my slow smile, fully aware that it looks like sex. 

 

“Fine.” He says, rolling his eyes and wiping his mouth with a napkin before throwing me over his shoulder. I let out an indignant yelp. 

 

“What are you doing?” I yell, both irritated and elated at the same time. 

 

“Oh you know exactly what's going to happen, chiot.” He says before throwing me down on the bed. 

 

“Have I been a bad dog?” I teasingly smirk.

 

“A gorgeous, infuriating dog, with the best fucking arse I have ever seen. And you know it, you bastard.” He growls, and the sounds travels all the way down to my toes. 

 

“I'm all yours.” I tell him, and the worst part is, it's true, I have never been this fascinated, turned on and interested in an other human being in all my (decidedly not very long) life. 

 

He licks every part of me with no shame and no sense of propriety. I feel like he's trying to claim me by leaving his scent all over my body. And I definitely like it. He turns me over and sucks on my spine from neck to tail bone. When his mouth reaches my arse, my breath is coming out in short stuttering shocks. Surely he's stopping right? 

 

His thumbs were suddenly right there. I stopped breathing fully and completely. Surely he's not going to...”AHHH” Oh yes he was. He is licking me in a very private and a surprisingly enjoyable place. 

 

“Did you like that?” He sounds smug. For a very good reason.

 

“Aaaaa.” 

 

“Do you want it?” He asks. Bastard.

 

“ye...ye...yes. Please” I almost sob into the pillow. 

 

“I'll give you anything you want, mon chéri.” He says, diving in with his wonderful merciful tongue, pointing it so it reaches even further inside me. 

 

“Aaaaa... Please Remus!” 

 

He licks and sucks as if it's the best thing he's ever tasted. His tongue is without a doubt the best thing that's ever happened to me. 

 

His finger, covered in what must be cooking oil, is joining his tongue, and his finger is reaching even further. I'm whimpering and can't seem to stop myself. My hands are trying to grab hold of anything in my reach, right now it's sheets. 

 

His big hands are palming and squeezing my arse-cheeks. And I'm feeling devoured. He's inserting an other finger. I'm starting to shake and convulse. My hair is plastering itself in my face. And then, something amazing happens.

 

“OH MY GOD!” He touches the bundle of nerves inside me and I almost come. 

 

“Relax, chiot. You almost kicked me in the stomach.” He's sounding fond. I want him to sound desperate.

 

“Just do it.” It's like torture. “You should do it now, I'm ready.” I tell him, and thrust my arse up, into his hands. 

 

“Relax. You're exquisite.” He says, but takes away his hands to my great disappointment. I turn around to ask him why and is greeted by Remus taking off his clothes. His chest is scattered with large scars.

 

“Are you disappointed?” He asks, with his eyes on the floor.

 

“No. You are very sexy. Now come here and fuck me.” I tell him. It's true, it makes him look sexy and a bit rugged. We all have scars, some that you can see, and some that you can't.

 

“Whatever you want.” He seems pleased. And then he drops his trousers and I'm face to face with a long and thick cock. Remus cock. I reach for it and feel the silky skin under my hand.

 

“Mmm. Not too much mon chéri.” He says, and finally I have him were I want him; desperate.

 

He reinserts three fingers and checks that I'm stretched enough. 

 

“Do it.” I give him my most self-assured smile.

 

He puts his large hands under my knees and opens me up in an almost obscene way. I can't help but close my eyes for a second. And then he pushes in, and my eyes open of their own accord.

 

It's smooth and filling. We both moan. My eyes are locked with his, and we try to help each other to breathe. He stops when he is fully immersed.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“I'm fine. Good.” And then he pulls himself almost all the way out, before plunging in again with bruising force.

 

“Aa!” 

 

“Like this?” He asks, fucking me with a furious tempo. 

 

“Harder!” I scream. 

 

The small room is filled with gasps and slapping flesh. The sound should not be as satisfying as it actually is. 

 

“Remus, harder!” I scream pounding his back with my hands, tugging his hair. 

 

He bites down on my neck, at the same place as before, I know it is because it's still a bit sore. 

 

“AAH!” 

 

“Just like that, chiot. You feel so good. So tight.” He whispers in my ear. And that is all it takes. I come, and I paint both of our stomachs with it. His arms wrap around me and he holds me tight against him while he thrusts a few more time before he bites down again, muffling his scream as he comes. 

 

Afterwards, he lays me down and pulls out slowly. He uses his under shirt to wipe our stomachs before he discards it on the floor. Spooning behind me, he gathers me close with his arms and whispers, “Sleep, chiot.” 

 

And I do.

**Author's Note:**

> Hotchkiss is a car made in France during the 1930s 
> 
> "Le père La Cerise est verni." Is an actual code phrase used in WWII meaning "Opération de guérilla ". Not really what I was looking for but the closest I could get.


End file.
